Miles to Go
by Wilusa
Summary: A major canon character has died...and honoring his last requests may not be easy. Part of my main universe.


DISCLAIMER: _Highlander_,_ Raven_ and their canon characters are the property of Davis/Panzer Productions; no copyright infringement is intended.

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The match went out.

The fourth match.

Nick Wolfe swallowed the oath that rose to his lips. He'd known the short, flimsy things were inadequate; even now, he'd only have to backtrack a few steps to obtain a more serviceable taper.

But he was perversely determined to use matches. These matches.

On his fifth attempt, the torch finally ignited.

With a sigh of relief, he slipped the matchbook back in his pocket. Then he closed the heavy door behind him, and took the torch from its archaic wall sconce.

Holding it carefully, he began his descent of the steep, winding staircase. The narrow stone steps might have been intended for a child's feet. To make matters worse, they were so worn by centuries of use that every one was a precipitous slope.

But Nick made it safely to the granite-walled crypt. Even remembered the warning that once there, he'd have to stoop.

He placed the flickering torch in another holder. His imagination was working overtime: he could have sworn the chamber was dank and musty, its dust undisturbed for generations.

But he knew better. Air was circulated by modern, if craftily concealed, air conditioning. And two other men - one with no inkling of the truth - paid visits to the sarcophagus he was seeing for the first time.

He sank to his knees beside that sarcophagus. Huddled against it, with his cheek pressed to the cold stone slab.

_I still find it hard to believe, my friend. That you're really here. That this is where they laid the earthly remains of Duncan MacLeod_.

Nick didn't know which had come as the greater shock. That MacLeod could die, or that his head had been taken by the least likely of foes.

Of course, that Immortal was dead now, too.

The Highlander's fate was well-nigh incredible. But his own secret chronicle explained how it had come about. That chronicle had been passed on to Nick, as he intended. Tears welled in the younger Immortal's eyes as he pondered his friend's last requests.

Entombment in the crypt was to be temporary. MacLeod wanted Nick to reduce his remains to ash, and bury those ashes with Tessa Noel.

_So you never stopped loving her, Mac? What a woman she must have been._

_I can't do what you asked right now, but I swear I will. You'd understand the problem. I can't have her grave opened, or even dig near it, without attracting the wrong kind of attention. As soon as it can be done, it will be_.

The other mission entrusted to him would be harder to carry out. MacLeod had expressed the hope that when the emigration crisis came to a head - the crisis that had begun with the marooned children - Nick would come back from Nineveh and mount a last-ditch rescue attempt. If he could do so without risk to himself.

Without risk? Nick smiled through his tears. _Getting back may not be easy. And it may not be humanly possible to save those people. But I'll either do it or die trying._

He couldn't dwell on that now. His mind kept returning to the astonishing life, and even more astonishing death, of Duncan MacLeod.

_All we can ever hope for is that a friend will die as he would have wished. A quick death, maybe, without pain. Or death at a great age, or in a noble cause._

_But you wouldn't have dared wish for the death that found you. A destiny beyond your wildest dreams._

_I know how you loved him. He had given you so much...and in the end, you were able to give him the greatest gift of all._

_You gave me a gift, too...by counting me your friend, leaving me your chronicle._

_I vow I'll never betray that trust._

He scrambled to his feet, wiping the tears from his face. This time he smacked his head on the low ceiling; that prompted a shaky laugh.

_I'll be back._

He reclaimed the torch and made his way up the stairs.

Even before he reached the door, he sensed the presence of another of his kind.

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He wasn't alarmed. There was no danger; they were on holy ground. But he hoped this Immortal was the one he wanted - needed - to see.

He opened the door on a crack to admit some light, then extinguished the torch and returned it to its bracket. Stepped quietly out into the nave of the church.

The man kneeling in a rear pew was looking around. But Nick moved quickly enough that by the time he was seen, it appeared he had just entered through the building's side door.

_Much better. My visiting the crypt wouldn't be unreasonable. After all, he does! But it might seem out of character._

Their eyes met, and they both smiled.

The kneeling Immortal crossed himself, got to his feet and stepped out of the pew. After genuflecting reverently, he strolled to meet Nick.

"Spotted my wheels out front, did you? Or have you taken to praying here now?"

Nick grinned. "I came in because I knew you were here."

"Your SUV around on the side?"

"Yep." _And a good thing it is, or you would've seen it._

"Glad we met up, Nick. Come on over to the b-" He changed his mind. "Wait, I have a better idea. Let's head for my warehouse, so we can work out together. Haven't done that in weeks."

"Great. I've been practicing. Sword and martial arts. Hope you're prepared to spend some time on your butt!"

Nick's fingers touched the matchbook in his pocket. The matchbook that advertised Le Blues Bar. _Next best thing to taking Joe Dawson down into the crypt._

Just as secure, in another pocket, were the CD-ROMs that held the all-important chronicle.

But it was the matchbook he clutched, his anchor in the here and now, as he left the church.

With his closest friend, Duncan MacLeod. Who, fortunately for Nick's composure, hadn't felt the urge to say a prayer at his own tomb.

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It was midnight when they quit practicing and headed for their cars. MacLeod hadn't spent much time on his butt.

But then, he never did.

_I wonder what he'd think_, Nick mused, _if I told him what the future holds? Told him he'll live for five million years, then travel back in time and die before he was born?_

_Hell, I know what he'd think. That I'm nutty as a fruitcake._

They said cheerful goodbyes, and MacLeod's Range Rover disappeared into the night.

Nick was in no hurry. He stood leaning on his SUV, gazing up at the stars. Recalling a poem by Robert Frost.

_"For I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep."_

Miles?

Which of those twinkling lights in the sky was the sun of the world humans would name Nineveh?

_One of these centuries_, Nick told himself with a smile, _I'll have to start thinking in parsecs._

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The End


End file.
